


The natural order of things

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, I don't even know alright, M/M, Oral Sex, mentions of child rape, offensive shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 04:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: Things that are meant to happen happen just like they are meant to.





	The natural order of things

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Порядок вещей](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/522785) by LunniLost. 

> Hello!
> 
> This is a translation I made of a delightful story my spiritual brother wrote in Russian.  
This text is in no way connected to all the previous texts I posted here.  
This text is cool and I love it and I hope I didn't fuck up in there and if I did please tell me and smash the shit out of my grammar.
> 
> Okay, now for the fucking tag situation.  
Child rape is mentioned in the dialogue. And it is discussed in a pretty rude and offensive way. Everything there is discussed in a rude and offensive way. So beware. This is a trigger warning.  
Also, some other pairings are mentioned.
> 
> And I think that's it.  
Enjoy! I sure did. :)

Tim smokes, studying the wall. Events that unfolded there a few minutes earlier bother him even less than Rwanda's foreign affairs, and Rwanda's foreign affairs don't bother him at all.

Because it is just the natural order of things. It simply had to happen, and he knew it right from that moment when he spoke to Manson for the first time in his life. He is sure that Manson was more than aware of it too.

They were chatting and drinking something, and Tim daresaid - though it was actually as daring as thinking that the sun would rise in the morning - that it was alright to make his move. Even more so, that he just had to make his move, because when your companion loses his train of thought and shifts closer and closer to you without realizing and constantly fidgets, trying to find a comfortable position, and almost straightforward ogles you... Then it is a bit difficult to go on with the small talk, not that their conversation was anything like that.

So Tim kissed him, and it lasted substantially longer than Manson tried to make it sound, pushing him away.

"Fuck, get off me. I don't wanna kiss with you."

"Seriously?"

"Fucking hell, I am not... I am not into banging dudes, how many times do I have to say it?"

Tim smirks.

"As many as you want, I don't mind."

"Goddamn it. Fuck off. Just fuck off," Manson runs away after saying that, trying to make it look like he is not running, but simply walking away.

_Unstable fruitcake_, Tim thinks.

Tim also thinks, that the whole scene was played out for his benefit.

Because he, let's say, is also not into banging dudes. And Manson knows that. He was just serving the decencies.

Decencies, ha.

Tim combusts several more cigarettes and even dozes off, spreading across the couch, before Manson graces him with his presence again.

"The fuck are you clouding my living room with your miasma?" he asks, crabby, but not really angry.

"Didn't feel like getting up," Tim makes a wide, somewhat theatrical gesture, throwing his arms open. "Come the fuck here. There is nobody in this house to applaud your performance, and I am not particularly impressed by it. Sorry. But not like actually sorry, you know."

"Performance?"

"Come here," Tim says again.

"I could've punched you," Manson informs him, coming closer and sitting down next to him, his whole form showing just how much his honour and dignity have been insulted.

"Of course you could've done that," Tim scoffs, his nose wrinkled. "But you wouldn't have. It's not what you want."

"Yeah? And what do I want?"

Tim laughs out loud.

"You want fucking roleplaying. You want me to kinda push you into it, so that you could kinda fight back. And it's too fucking dumb for you, alright? Not to mention how fucking dumb it is for me. I cannot fuck and laugh my ass off at the same time."

"Why would you even—"

"Because you've been thinking about it since the day we met, and it is written all over your face. I am not an idiot, okay? I notice when I am wanted."

Manson gives up.

"Are you serious about doing it?" he mutters, sighing, studying the floor.

"And what did you find on my face?" he mutters again.

Then he mutters something else, barely audible.

"I am not only serious, I am going to do it. I can do it right now, if you stop acting like a virgin. I am not picky. I like being wanted in such manner. If I didn't, I wouldn't be working with you. And I sure can provide my services, so..."

"Services?" Manson chuckles, relaxing on the couch. "Did I invite a high-class whore to my house?"

"Maybe you did," Tim snorts, quirking his lips. "But then you are a dumb fuck, because whores are invited to satisfy the client's wishes, not to prove to him that he has them."

"Hell. This is fucking weird."

"That's on you, I personally didn't do anything weird."

"You're saying weird things."

"Oh. Alright. If you say so."

They sit silently for a few minutes, each thinking his own thoughts.

Then Tim grows really bored.

"Hey. You wanna play? Let's play. But I set the rules. Deal?"

"Depends on the rules."

"Hm... The rules are very easy. I ask you a question, and you answer me. If you give me the right answers, I'll give you a reward. Fuck, it even sounds dumb. But whatever, this is my offer."

"Alright... Just don't ask me which way is north."

"I don't give a fuck which way is north. How old were you when you sucked cock the first time?"

"Fuck..."

"Nope. Answer me, come on. It's not that hard."

"Okay, alright. Twenty something, I think."

Tim laughs.

"No. The very first time."

Manson squirms on the couch and puts his hand over his eyes.

"Okay. Ten."

"And who was that?"

"I don't..." Manson gives Tim puppy eyes, but Tim doesn't give anything in return. "Fuck, alright. A guy from my school. I think he was three or four years older than me."

"Fuck, wait. A guy from your fucking Christian school stuffed your fucking mouth with his cock? Fucking awesome. Damn, why was I never so... vulnerable? Why did nobody try that on me?"

"Actually, it was fucking horrible, and he forced me."

"Yeah, well, I kinda wish somebody forced me into something as horrible too. Made me suck them off or something. You are a goddamn rock star now, even though you are shit at it, and I am just a... Just a fucking nobody who writes tunes for you."

"You think that's connected?"

"It is connected, I am positive about it. Everybody knows that sucking dicks leads to fame. Let's continue?"

"Shoot."

"Who fucked you the first time?"

"Goddamn it, you..."

"I'm waiting."

"Fuck. You don't wanna know. Trent."

"Here, look. Just like I said. Letting your producer fuck you also ensures your success."

"We finished the damn album by then, so... Whatever. He didn't force me into it."

"So tell me about it. This I do want to know."

"There isn't much to..." Manson wrinkles his face. "We were just hanging out, all of us, and everybody else apart from me and him passed out long before that. And then I lost my fucking brains and unzipped his pants. He laughed and told me that he won't ever get hard with a guy, especially if that guy is me, but I didn't give a shit and just licked his flaccid sausage like... Like a fucking candy, I don't know, couldn't stop, wanted to prove him wrong, I guess..."

"And that worked, I gather?"

"Yeah," Manson giggles. The memory is clearly pleasant, and so is the opportunity to tell about it to somebody, even more than the memory itself.

"So how did his sausage end up in your virtuous ass?"

"He just grabbed me by my hair and told me that now that he did get hard with a guy - with me specifically - I simply had to provide him with the full access. Which I absolutely could do, because my ass wasn't as virtuous by that moment anymore."

"Dildos?"

"Yeah. And fuck knows what else. But anyway, after that I fucked with him for a couple more months every time I could and more. I think my fucking hole wouldn't even close properly. Even though his dick isn't that great. He put in the long hours instead of raising the quality of the service, you know."

"And your former bass player also fucked you, I take it? Or did you fuck him? Or both?"

"Fuck, why do you need to... Alright, yeah, both. But this you really don't want to know anything about."

"I wanna know _something_. Did you fuck him first before or after Trent?"

"Before. And I fucked him together with Trent at the same time too."

"Fuck, you sure know how to pique my interest. Are we talking two holes or one?"

"If it was two holes, I wouldn't even mention it, it's boring."

"Right, now who is a whore here..."

"You are. Let's continue? Haven't I earned my reward yet? I mean, all this talk kinda made me—"

"Not yet. You have to answer one more question. At least."

"What question?"

"What was the first thing you wanted from me?"

"I uh... Fuck, Tim. You know I suck on everything."

"Sure I do. Go ahead then. Suck."

"Now?"

"No, next Thursday. Of course fucking now."

Manson shakes his head and bends, getting closer to Tim's zipper, feeling like he is about to choke on his own saliva. The feeling grows even stronger, when he pulls Tim's cock out of his pants, but then that feeling also gets accompanied by another one, Manson losing his determination a bit, because nature didn't do a shoddy job while working on Tim.

"Just... I haven't sucked anybody off in ages, so my skills are a bit stale, okay?"

"I don't give a fuck about that. Suck it. I wanna see you do it. You specifically do it to me specifically."

Manson shrugs, not understanding what exactly is so special about him, and stuffs his mouth with the much desired cock.

Tim can't really focus on sensations, though they are pretty impressive too. But it is even more interesting to look at Manson's highly content face, his hair a mess, his eyelids heavy, half-closed in pleasure.

Not that there isn't any room for improvement.

"Open your eyes."

His request doesn't exactly sound polite, but Manson complies. Having enjoyed the hazy bliss in his eyes, Tim decides to entertain himself some more.

"Can you deepthroat? Do it then. Wanna see your nose touching my stomach."

Manson's eyes are now wet at the corners, but he complies again, and Tim feels his cock touching the insides of Manson's throat, contractions going through it.

"Nice little hole," Tim mutters, barely audible. It is just this phrase is the only thing he has in his head at the moment, he doesn't want to insult or offend anybody with it, he simply states the facts. The sun will rise tomorrow, and Manson is a nice little hole, Manson is a fucking amazing little hole, an obedient little hole with a tender, vibrating throat and soft lips. If Tim was that dude from Manson's fucking Christian school, he'd lock young innocent Manson up in his basement and fuck his mouth every few hours.

He doesn't let him finish his task despite of that.

"Stop. I don't want to come like this. I mean... Fuck, no, of course I want to, but you'll do it for me again, won't you?"

"Sure. Since you don't mind," Manson rubs at his temple, then wipes his mouth and sits up.

"Fuck," Tim says with emphasis, studying Manson's face, overly curious and almost sniffing him. "You should be in a brothel."

"I am already in a brothel, aren't I? We both work in a damn brothel."

"Yeah, right. Stop pretending you are a rebellious teenager already, okay? You've always wanted to be a part of show business."

"I've always wanted to be heard. Becoming a part of show business to achieve that is just a side effect."

"But not an unpleasant one. You fucking enjoy it."

"Not sexually. And I am not enjoying anything sexually right now either."

"That is on purpose. I need some cooling."

"What for? I am not acting like a virgin anymore, aren't I?"

His sarcasm isn't bitter at all.

They both know that this phrase of Tim's didn't even bother him.

Tim looks at the ceiling, blinking slowly.

"Fuck the games, okay? Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Or do whatever you want yourself, just do it, no need to ask."

"How generous," Manson says, looking like a goddamn philosopher. "And reckless."

"I think I have a pretty good understanding of what you're capable of."

"You're wrong, but... Don't you wanna know first why we even came to this?"

"And why is that?"

"We came to this, because music makes sexuality into something fundamentally different... Perfects it, if you wish."

"Oh, your fucking philosophy again. I am fed up with it already."

"Well, you'll eat a bit more of it. You'll like it."

Tim makes a face, wholeheartedly doubting Manson's last statement.

"Anyway, I can't work with people who I don't also want," Manson explains, and Tim immediately stops acting the ape.

"The fuck is this? Do you also want Ginger? John? No, forget that, everybody wants John. But fuck... Pogo? Are you even serious?"

"Pretty serious. You're right about John. And I do want Ginger, me personally, even though I can bet he has no idea that I do. I also want Pogo, yeah, and he knows that perfectly well, but doesn't share my feelings. And of course, even if all of them agreed, I wouldn't actually fuck them. A psychopath, a wallflower and a prom queen who won't shut up about guitars... They are important characters. Characters in a fucked up play."

"In _your_ play, yeah. And you are the hero, a crazy narcissist and an embodiment of both good and evil and so on, I've heard it before. What's my part in all of that? And why do you want to actually fuck me?"

"You're a social climber, Tim. And everybody knows that. You're there to compete with me. To stand there next to me with your resting bitch face, so that I won't become too full of myself."

"Is it so? And you didn't answer my second question."

"I did. We are, like, equals?"

"God, that fucking philosophy of yours," Tim mutters, annoyed.

"Well, if you want me to suck you off morally as well, then okay, here you go: I just want a giant uncut Swedish dick. It's my innermost dream."

"You didn't know what size my dick was half an hour ago. And you didn't know for sure it was uncut either."

Manson laughs out loud.

"Have you seen your fucking face? It says "I have the biggest motherfucking dick in a forty miles radius" right across it."

"I guess I should've washed it better."

"By the way. I want a giant uncut Swedish dick. Now, if that's possible."

His voice is even, but his pale skin can't hide the blood rushing to his cheeks.

"You oughtta try harder than this," Tim snorts. "You look like fucking Ginger when I walk in on him in the bathroom."

"It's just a natural reaction," Manson says nonchalantly. "And it's not the only one. And not only mine."

"Is my fucking face red too?"

"Your fucking dick is hard as a rock. Don't know about your face."

Oh, Tim is well aware of that.

It's just he finds it amusing, sitting there with a boner, his pants open, talking about all sorts of nonsense. Manson is pretty amusing, when he isn't trying to pretend he is an uptight old Christian lady. When he is just staring at the subjectively giant, absolutely uncut and quite probably Swedish body part of his.

"So can I do something to both of us?"

"Of course. No objections here."

Mansons pulls off a face that is supposed to mean something like "Tim Skold is a cheeky bastard" and leaves the room, and then comes back with lube and already naked.

"Do you want to look at how I stretch myself or do you want to do it?"

"Do what? Stretch you or me? Or both of us? The options you've given me are kinda limited."

"Well, me for now. Then the limitations can go away, if you..."

"Got it. If you're asking me if I won't run away from you afterwards, that is. I signed a contract, you know. Also, I am a social climber, you said it yourself. You got fucked by your producer. I don't have one, I just have you, so..."

"Oh, fuck off, Tim," Manson laughs. "And I am still waiting for your answer, by the way. Looking or active participation?"

"Looking. I like looking at you."

"Is that a love confession?" Manson spreads his legs and pulls them up, not forgetting to talk either.

"Not really. I like looking at you only under certain circumstances."

"What circumstances would those be?" Mansons keeps bugging him, his voice breaking a little, his fingers digging deeper into his hole.

"When you have a cock in your mouth - my cock, I mean - and I guess right now too, when you're lying on your back like an oversized bug," Tim wrinkles his forehead. "And maybe on some other occasions. Can't think of any right now, so maybe not."

"Quit thinking. You haven't seen much of what might be of interest to you, if I understand anything here."

Tim shrugs and doesn't respond.

Tim just looks at him, and he is perfectly content with the view, even more than that.

Then a piece of their shared reality gets lost.

Just a tiny little piece of the puzzle.

And Tim is upset by that, he is upset that he can't remember how it happened, but he can't, because he is already inside.

"Fuck... Fucking hell. I guess I understimated the threat," Manson complains.

Like, in all honesty complains.

"You didn't. There isn't anything threatening about my cock. But I can stop."

Tim probably says that not in all honesty, but the truth cannot be discerned at this point, and he knows that. He's just serving the decencies.

"Fuck, no, don't you dare... It doesn't hurt, it's just... A lot."

So much for discerning the truth.

Tim doesn't think it is a lot for him in the physical sense. Tim thinks he just can't comprehend the nature of his feelings at the moment.

Tim wonders how did Manson even survive that long, and how did he survive this overly lengthy conversation, and he feels something akin to respect for him for a moment there.

However, such atypical thoughts doesn't occupy his head for long, just like any other thoughts don't.

Tim falls into a rhythm, and rhythm is one of those things he understands and loves, he doesn't need to think about rhythm, he can simply feel it.

"...can you fucking shut up?"

Now this doesn't sound rude, it sounds kinda affectionate, if Tim is even capable of sounding affectionate, which is improbable, to say the least.

And Manson can fucking shut up, of course, and he could've done that on his own as well, if all of that wasn't too much for him. He shuts up anyway, and neither of them remembers what he was talking about and why it was so important afterwards.

Then both of them break into elementary particles and materialize again, losing some matter in the process and gaining something to be just a little bit surprised about.

"I imagined it kinda... differently?"

"Disappointed?" Tim studies the ceiling thoughtfully, unable to understand Manson's complaint.

"Are you kidding me? I can't move a single digit."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's perfect. What I meant was... Well, I was worried you..."

"Seriously? Why? What do you think, uncut Swedish dicks also have teeth on them?"

"Oh, fuck off," Manson snorts, a dick with teeth appearing in his mind.

"They don't," Tim affirms, emphasis on every syllable.

After then nobody says anything, and nobody is sorry.

And events that unfolded there bother them even less than Rwanda's foreign affairs, because things that are meant to happen happen just like they are meant to.

\-----------------------------------


End file.
